Matters of Humanity
by chuxter
Summary: Sherlock, oh my goodness!" I gasped, he didn't hear me, his glazed eyes told me all that I needed to know. AND THAT WAS... YOU HAVE TO R&R ON THIS STORY!
1. The whisperers

I had not had a pleasant dream, the sound of gunfire had been ringing through my ears and when I had been awakened I entered a brief period of time where I was neither awake nor asleep and it was then that I heard them, it must have been a dozen people, whipering my name, 'John Watson, John Watson.' like a chant, then, through it all I heard a louder voice saying, "The game is afoot, come Watson." at this I awoke, petrified from my dreams, I let out a small cry, much to the shock of my friend, Sherlock Holmes, who promptly exclaimed, in that resigned voice I have come to know so well, "Oh for goodness sake Watson, whatever is it now? Come. You must hurry up, we simply do not have any time at all!"

With that he spun and marched out of my room, I lay still for a moment before slowly getting up and rubbing my eyes, I paused for a while with my head rested in my hands, briefly letting the horror of my dreams overwhelm me, before dressing hurriedly and following Holmes out of 221B Baker street and in to a hansom he had waiting.


	2. The tor

"Holmes." I said sternly, "What's this all about?"

"Hmm?" Holmes looked at me vacantly, how he managed to forget the excited rush he had been in to leave the house only moments befor, I would never know.

"The case, Holmes, the case!" I said, exasperated.

"Oh, that." he said, distantly, "Yes, it is most certainly of some interest."

A look of appalled shock came over my features, "What do you mean **some **interest? If it was only of **some **interest then whyever did you wake me so?"

An entertained glint came into his eyes and he shifted so as to face me, his features displayed an underlying alertness that told me of a case that had inspired my friend to the very core of his being, or close enough.

"In dartmoor there is a tor1, the locals name it haytor, and it was beneath this tor that the murdered body of one Mrs. Agnes Muller was found, however, she held no ticket, no purse, and she was at dinner that very night with her family in London, so tell me, Watson, how did she come to be lying at the foot of a tor, hundreds of miles away just a short while after?" His eyes gleamed at me and an excited smile had crept into his features.

_1 A tor is a strange natural structure found in westcountry areas, basically it is a hill that has a huge rock upon it, it is not man made although they often look to be so and sometimes could be described as 'small mountains' in appearance. Search haytor on google and you'll see it, it looks like a big foot._


	3. Train Journeys

We reached Devon later than expected after a series of train delays, leaving our friend in an increasingly worsening mood, his eyes were dark by the time we reached the station at Newton Abbot1, and he sighed impatiently as I tried to call a cab, eventually I managed to get one, and Holmes thrust himself into the back seat, impatiently turning to the window and observing the sun's steady descent towards the horizon with a look of disdain in his eyes.

On the train journey he had made a comment about lodgings in a small village nearby called Ipplepen2 so that was where I asked us to be taken before sitting back and closing my eyes, I heard Holmes mumble an agitated comment about trampled ground and evidence being unfresh, before the steady swaying motion of the cab set me to a tranceful sleep, and then the whispers came again, more agitated now.

_1 A little town in Devon, surrounded by lots of small villages and large expanses of farmland. The centre of activity for all areas in about a 6 or 7 mile radius before another town called Totnes takes over._

_2 A parish 4 miles from newton abbot, consists of a few streets and a fairly new post office, quite forgotten from the ordinary hubbub of life causing it to be enchantingly peaceful, where ever you go in this village you can see the moor, and, looming over it, in the distance is Haytor, which is always visible._


	4. Sunset

The cottage we were staying in had a window facing over, towards the moor and it was here I stood, transfixed at the sight of the sunset, the sun was the deepest crimson I have ever seen and I am certain that the colour of it should have called jealousy to the eyes of any dressmaker, the sky itself was a deep mix of purples and oranges, and there, right above Haytor, and spiraling into the sky was a shape similar to a whirlwind, for 3 or 4 thin strips of cloud had somehow become intwined with eachother and now, the beautiful sunset had finished off the incredible view by casting a pinkish glow over them.

I found myself thinking of that poor woman's soul, winding it's way up to heaven, as I stood there, feeling, for perhaps the first time, that there **must** be a God, for I am certain that such beauty does not happen by chance.

The effect, however, was ruined by Holmes' consistant pacing and bad humor behind me, he did not look upon the sunset with soft eyes, but cursed it before turning again, growing evermore agitated because of it.

I did not mind, I did not feel much like sleeping that night.


	5. Posessed

I did fall asleep in the end, I fell into my restless dreams, heard all those souls calling my name, yes, they no longer whispered, they called, the sounded desperate and I woke up to Holmes' shocked expression.

It took me a moment to gather my thoughts and realise that if Sherlock Holmes was shocked then something was definately amiss.

"What's wrong?" I questioned.

"I would have hoped you would tell me that." he stated, he looked quite pale.

"Me?" I asked, fairly shocked.

"Just now," he began, "Just now, when I came to wake you, you.." he paused to gather his thoughts, he looked fairly perplexed, " Well" he said, " You did not stir and as you looked quite fitful I thought best not to disturb you and to wait, so there I was, pacing the carpet when suddenly I turned to see you stood there with such a devilish look in your eyes I should have been certain you would have killed me had it not been you, my friend, and then you said, 'The time has come.' and not a word more, in such a shocking voice that I could not have placed it as yours had I not seen you to be the one talking. After that you walked back and fell into that chair, where sleep seemed to overwhelm you, and, not 5 seconds after did you open your eyes and ask the question, 'what's wrong?' watson!" He exclaimed, clearly very agitated.

It was then I saw Lestrade's deep, concerned eyes behind him.


	6. Examining the ground

We breakfasted in silence before heading over the moors, a cab took us part of the way but soon the terrain became to tough and we had to walk, Holmes made a brief complaint about the fresh air, but his soul was not in it, I could see that he and the inspector were worried by the way they kept glancing at me during the journey, we arrived befor the devonshire police that morning because of how early we had set off, but they were not far behind so Holmes quickly set about examining the ground.

The police arrived a few minutes behind us and showed us to where the body had been found, "By a young lad, Trevor, the farmer's boy, sir, and a good lad too." Holmes waved the policeman away dismissively and continued his thorough search of the area.

After ten minutes or so he paused, his body language became that of the agile hunter who had laid eyes on a stag, "Interesting." He commented, then, after a moment, "What a nice day it is Watson." he looked quickly at the policeman then returned his gaze to me, "You know, I think that I might enjoy a quick walk, to see the views. Will you join me?"

I agreed and we left the crown of mulling inspectors.


	7. No

On top of the tor the wind got whipped and dishevelled my hair, but worse than that was the way it seemed to whisper as it passed my ears.

Holmes turned to me and said, "The report states that she was killed by a savage blow to the head."

"Yes." I replied, curious.

He smiled, his eyes glowing like lightning bolts, "Look at this." he said, motioning to the edge of the tor, I looked over and was immediateley hit by vertigo, something I had not experienced before at even greater heights than this, I saw nothing, the endless moor surrounded us, and, other than the little group of inspectors, a small distance away, there was nothing of any particular interest nearby.

I turned back to Holmes and said nothing.

"Is it not most interesting that we are on a hill?" he questioned, a sly smile upon his lips.

I wondered briefly if, when he said these things he believed other people to understand them, because i was growing increasingly tempted to answer him 'No.'


	8. Pushed

During the journey home the detective was silent and distracted, other than the occasional look of shock or excitement he seemed to completely detached from any attempts at conversation and unaware of his surroundings.

Once we arrived back at the cottage he immediately rushed upstairs and took a seat by the window, overlooking Haytor.

"Well." sighed Lestrade, "I don't know what to make of it." There was a pause, "Any thoughts Mr. Holmes?"

Holmes stirred slightly, "Well we must deduct that she was meeting someone and that she had not expected the arrangement, no, it was quite last minute. Then we must say that it was a man who she met and one who she was liable to argue with."

"A blackmailer perhaps?" queried Lestrade.

"Perhaps." said Holmes.

"Yes," I said, "She was eating, that night, with her parents, when the word reached her, well, naturally she dropped everything and rushed to Devon, she meets this man, they argue, and he kills her."

The inspector nodded vigorously, but the vacant expression in Holmes' eyes told that he had found fault.

"Then there would be three points of controversy." He stated, "One, A woman who has lived her whole life in London, why would she have blackmailers in Devon? Two, why would he kill her? She could not possibly have done him any harm if she feared he could cause a scandal in return, and three, she was killed at the foot of the tor not where her body was found."

"At the tor?" I questioned, shocked.

"Yes." he replied.

"How? Why would the killer bother to shift her body so far?"

"He didn't," Sherlock Holmes said, "They were on a hill, she rolled."

"But," Lestrade leaned forward, "The hill was not so steep that she should roll after her body hit the floor."

"No, she was pushed."

"Pushed?"

"Yes, from on top of the tor, some of her wounds were quite bad, and the police were shocked at the amount of force it would have taken them to be inflicted, a force as great, perhaps, as gravity." My friend smiled.

Me and the inspector remained seated for a moment, stunned, then Sherlock Holmes rose and left to go to bed, leaving the pair of us unfairly intrigued and unquenched of our thirst for the solution.


	9. Seperate

Me and Lestrade had not spoken long that night, and, after he left, I found myself tremendously afraid and alone with the dark, the thought of them terrible whispers kept me awake for what seemed hours, but, eventually I succumbed to the black world of dreams that had engulfed my mind for the previous few days.

The next morning I was awoken by a loud shout from Holmes, and looking about, I realised my hand was holding my friends neck and lifting him off of the ground, he was plastered, in an awkward fashion, to the wall, and, on my awakening he said rather loudly, "Oh Watson! Is that you? How nice of you to drop by!"  
He acted as if he was not bothered but, for once, even _his_ superior dramatic skills could fool me.  
I could see how clearly upset he was by the flustered way he moved around the room and the fact that, that morning, his choice of chair was as far from me as possible.

Lestrade, of course, had been woken by all the commotion and was now stood in our doorway, his dark, earnest eyes seemed to bore right into the heart of the situation and I oftentimes found myself wondering why Holmes should have such a vacant grey colour to his, darting, livewire eyes and the inspector's calm stare should come from behind his deep, inferring eyes.

After a moment the inspector lost his previous, alert composure, and settled into a more official, serious one, calling Holmesto talk with him on the opposite side of the room, their flickering glances in my direction at various intervals during their mumbled conversation unsettled me slightly, to say the least, but deep down I knew the topic of conversation, and little clippits of words only solidified my assumptions, 'mental health..', 'too dangerous', 'I'm sorry Holmes', 'under threat.'

I was certain they would decide to send me back to London but Holmes said that seeings these strange occurences only seemed to happen in my sleep there would be no harm in me staying so long as I was secured during the night.  
Eventually Lestrade agreed with this and so it was that me and holmes were separated from that point onwards during my hours of sleep, eventually I could not travel in the carriage either as I oftentimes slept during those rides to and from Haytor.  
I was upset at the way I had behaved, and embarrassed at being locked up like a dog, but what really stung me was the fact that I had become a hindrance to Holmes, he never said it, but I could see it in his eyes, I could also see the fear he experienced every time I entered the room, the sudden uncertainty.  
Over the course of the strange occurences my friend seemed to pale in complexion, and telltale lines of worry began to appear on his face.


	10. Alone

Today Lestrade and Holmes were out all day and when they came back they apologized and promised that they would stay in the village tomorrow so that we could all go out together.

They had had quite a productive day, they said, they had found a candle on the moor, and, although Lestrade was not particularly interested in it, it had lightened Holmes' mood incredibly.

Lestrade talked mostly of the 'facts of the case' mentioning information on possible transport methods from London and reasons they had formulated as to why she carried no train ticket or purse, "Muggers." he said, "And who knows? the murderer could have taken her ticket to cover up the time of death or how she travelled here."

I was pleased that they had returned with so much information, it gave us all something to ponder, my only regret, however, was the fact that I could not have been there to experience the revelations myself.

As night fell I departed to my room first and it was Lestrade who locked my door, Holmes' pale face peering at me as it shut, I could see, even in the darkness, the worry in his eyes.


	11. Restless

The night was restless, I felt a terrible fever come over me and, try as I might, I could not get to sleep, the thirst and heat were so bad, the back of my throat felt tight and stretched, and, no matter how much water I drank, the thirst remained.

I must have made some great deal of sound in my discomfort because, some time in the small hours of the morning a very frustrated Lestrade came into my room, "Doctor," He sighed, "Whatever is the matter?"

I was just about to answer him when Holmes came in and suddenly I could feel the darkness slipping its icy grip over me, **"GET HIM AWAY! GET HIM AWAY FROM ME!"** I yelled, "Oh, god, please keep him away!"

"Watson!" Holmes exclaimed, an almost pleading look in his eyes, "What's going on? I don't understand."

"Out!" I cried.

He looked almost hurt, but he turned and left, as I had said.  
Lestrade stayed only a moment longer, to see that I was settled, but I could see his discomfort, and he soon left.

Only then did the exhaustion of all my screaming and lack of sleep finally overcome me, and I fell into a deep, dark slumber.


	12. Barmaid

_A/N: Thanks to aragonite, rabidsamfan, evilrin and KCS for commenting, Kadal for +alerting and evilrin for favouriting.  
Am now a Beta reader so you know, contact moi.  
Getting a load of comments saying 'suspense' and 'I don't know where this is going!' so  
I thought I'd let you know, I don't really know either! In fact, I'm reading as I'm writing.  
Time to add some romance methinks. _

The next day Holmes and Lestrade kept true to their promise and stayed in the village with me, though, after the previous night, I had thought they would leave.

We decided to go to the local pub, after all, they were the centre of the community, and gossip houses, the pub was named the plough, and it was quite a pleasant little place, a cottage.

We were all speechless at the sight of the pub, if you could call it that, for it was so clean and well furnished, and there were no fights to destroy the peace, "Maybe we caught it on a good day." Lestrade said, an almost pleading look of envy in his eyes, which was immediately replaced by shock as the barmaid came over with our drinks, 'resting' her arm around his shoulder and smiling deeply into his eyes as she did so.

A little colour rushed to the inspector's cheeks as we took the drinks and paid her, she lingered a moment, still smiling at him, and then moved away, discreetly brushing his cheek as she did so and flashing him a cheeky grin as she reached the bar, he continued to watch her until she disappeared into the back room, and then turned and tried to casually rejoin the conversation, but he failed, me and Holmes were not letting this little episode slip, certainly not, or we should be ashamed to claim we were in the detective business!


	13. Fine!

We were still teasing Lestrade when the barmaid came round the second time, "On 'oliday, are we?" she asked Lestrade.

"I wish." came his reply, "I'm on the Agnes Muller case."

At this her eyes went serious for a moment, "shame, nice woman, a real beauty too, all the boys loved Aggy."

"You mean to say," said Holmes, his eyes suddenly alive, "You knew Mrs. Muller?"

"Why 'course I did, who didn't, I ask you? Came 'ere oftentimes, she did."

"Well, how interesting." mused Holmes.

The barmaid's face showed confusion for a moment, and then the usual jovial look returned, "All work and no play is no way to spend a day." she chimed, looking at Lestrade fondly, her arm still around his shoulders.

Lestrade dodged that comment, instead asking, "Is it always this quiet?"

"I wish!" she half laughed, "All the men are at work in the fields."

"On a Sunday?" Lestrade exclaimed.

"'Course." She replied, "Mother nature 'as no regards to what day it is sir, and them crops won't harvest 'emselves."

Lestrade gave a look that clearly showed his understanding, "Neither does mother crime." he sighed.  
She scruffled his hair and walked away laughing.

"Well." I said, after she had left our view once more and Lestrade had regained his grip on the surroundings and turned to face us once more.

"I think, Watson, this case has taken a most peculiar turn." said Holmes, a distant look in his eyes, "Correspondence with this _delightful_ young woman could prove to be most interesting and useful to us." His eyes turned eagerly towards Lestrade.

"Oh no. No way Holmes! I know what you're thinking and the answer is no!" The Inspector stated.

"Oh what a shame you didn't simply agree, I suppose I shall have to use blackmail now." Holmes said.

"Blackmail?" Me and Lestrade exclaimed in unison.

Holmes' eyes had regained their vague look, "I suppose, Watson, you have not heard of the inspectors time at his mothers' house last Christmas?" The detective began.

"Fine!" boomed Lestrade, "Fine."


	14. Night, Night

I will never forget the lost, abandoned look on Lestrade's face as we left him with the barmaid after that second pint.

An hour later he came home, he informed us in a clipped tone that yes, he had spoken with her, no, she hadn't said anything new of consequence to the case, and yes, he had fixed a date with her the following afternoon.

Holmes, of course, still wanted a full report of everything said, though he was answered, merely, by a tired look from Lestrade who wnet off to bed, obviously fed up with conversation after his afternoon with the young barmaid.

Me and Holmes looked at eachother keenly as he left, and, for a while, it was the topic of all conversation between us, but, as the hours ticked on, he started to look wary, "How has your sleep been Watson?" he questioned, inadvertently reopening that very subject, neither of us were very keen on.

"I am sorry Holmes, I can't think what could be causing this." I lied; I was certain it was linked to these 'whisperers'.

"Not at all, my friend." He sighed, "Not at all."

His eyes seemed suddenly to become rather more tired than before and he slouched in his chair, yawning.

"One thing I do know." I started, the change in his body language was almost instant, eyes alert, leaning forward, "Is that it seems to have worsened ever since you took up this case."

"What seems to have worsened?" Holmes asked, his voice shrill with excitement.

"Oh, the whispering, it's yelling now." I yawned, "It's awful."

And then everything went dark, and they returned.


	15. Please! No!

_Thanks to rabidsamfan, kadal and aragonite for reviewing. :D  
This chapter is for you, especially Kadal, (just because you begged ;D hehe)  
Thanks to everyone who is keeping an eye on this little chav of a story!_

_Hope you guys enjoy it:_

She walked along the narrow, streetlamp-lit lanes, winding down one after the other, seeming to get nowhere.

She heard the footsteps long before she saw the person causing them, a dark figure in a bowler hat and a long, brown coat, he carried a staff at his side.  
This scared her, though at the time she didn't know why, she didn't have time to realise that here senses were screaming because of the blunt, metal head, and, worse than that, the fact he was not using the stick to walk, the fact that it never touched the floor.1

But she never had time to think these things, because, a moment later she was lying on the floor after a murderous blow to the head from that very staff that had given her an eerily unpleasant feeling of anxt in her stomach only moments before.

"Please! No!" she begged, she did not have time to scream, for continuous hits around the head with that stick had her dead withen seconds, and there she lay, her blood had barely had a chance to trickle from her wounds before she was being hoisted up and carried away, through the dark lanes and on to the moor, no one would find her body up there for another two days, in the vast wilderness, all evidence of his involvement with her would soon be lost and forgotten.

Her tongue, if all others kept talking, her tongue would stay silent, she would never get to tell anyone the terrible story of events leading to her friend's death, she would never hold her unborn child in her arms, name him, smile in to the ocean-blue eyes he would have had, his mother's eyes, his mother's smile.

_1 because country lanes are so rough it is pointless to carry a stick unless you will use it, the fact this stick is not touching the floor suggests it is needed for other uses!_


	16. Glazed over

_This continues from 14 more than 15 really.  
Thanks to KCS, kadal and Aragonite for reviewing, although Aragonite's review confused me..  
My afrikaans knowledge requested a moral in the review and I couldn't find one and so became paranoid until I continued the story and gave it a moral - lol, scariest review ever methinks!_

_Apologies; I haven't checked for mistakes, didn't have time, wish someone would do it for me lol ;D!_

_Hope you guys all like it . :_

My vision was blurred as I blinked my eyes open, and, through the fog that seemed to shroud my eyes I saw the faint outline of a man stood before me, "John, please, go away, keep him away."

I blinked a few times to clear my vision and saw before me the stout, powerful figure of my old friend Tobias, "Tobias?" I asked, my voice dreamy, "What ever is the matter?"

"They plotted, schemed!" He hissed suddenly, "After all they did to me, I vowed I would get my revenge, and you said you would repay me the blood, yes, John Watson, you owe me the very blood flowing through your veins, you owe me the very heart that is beating within you, even now, you owe them to me."

"Tobias, I owe you my life, but what is it you are talking of? This plot - what was it?"

"It doesn't matter, they've got what they deserved_, every last **bit** of it_!" He hissed, "And now, that man, that cruel, coldhearted man, comes after me? He doesn't understand, he does not know heartbreak, and he would have you caged like an **animal**, a brave, loyal soldier, treated like an animal, after all you've done for him!"

"Holmes?" I asked.

"Yes. I was a truer friend than him John, he looks down on emotions, he laughs at the intelligence of others, mocks them, and you, you have fought for the _Queen! _What has he done for his country? Sneer? Pompous fool, you can no doubt fool him, use his own senses against him, _keep him away_." he repeated, then his eyes hardened, "Scare him, hurt him, kill him; I don't care! Just deter him from the truth, the moment he moves in this direction, redirect him, his mind is like a train, it is not hard for the tracks to turn in another direction, plant evidence, destroy evidence, even the slightest change could throw him!"

_'Watson? Watson!' _Sounded Holmes' voice, it was distant and blurred.

My friend looked up suddenly, his eyes snapped open, "**The time has come, kill him, hurt him, keep him away!**" He screamed.

The screaming raged louder and louder until I could no longer bear it '**Kill! Go away! The time has come!**'  
My eyes snapped open, and, there before me stood Holmes, his feet were not touching the floor; my hand was fast around his neck, pushing him against the wall, with nowhere else to go he had naturally gone upwards, he looked to have been strugglind desperately but now his eyes were clouding over, slowly, he was dying.

My other hand curled into a fist, which I flung solidly into his stomach, he whimpered as what air was left in his lungs left in a sigh, and, it was this very sound that brought me to my senses, I realised that I had been the one shouting and promptly stopped as I lowered my friend to the floor, he did not stop on his feet, he just bundled onto the floor, as if he hadn't a bone in his body, "Sherlock, oh my goodness!" I gasped, he didn't hear me, his glazed eyes told me all that I needed to know.


	17. Calm

_Hi! Thanks to Taralome and bcbdrums for +alerting and thanks to bcbdrums, xravenscroftx, and Taralome for reveiwing.  
This chappy is for bcbdrums for boosting my reviews up to thirty, and also to help 'em get some sleep! ;D  
OMG **CHALLENGE**: Name the barmaid! review, somewhere, anywhere, in this story with a name! Please! I can't decide._

_Enjoy:_

The Inspector slowed his pace once they reached the riverside, the swans graced the water beautifully and the hazy sunset just over the hills finished the romantic atmosphere of the evening.

He breathed in the cool, fresh air, so different from the London smoke, revelling in the purity of it as it gushed into his lungs.

She walked beside him, their arms linked, their cheeks rosy, though, whether that was the cool air or other factors were responsible was most certainly questionable.

The river had gone a lush shade of pink, and, as the two walked together, Lestrade became very aware of her small, delicate figure beside him, she was wearing a pale grey dress and her blonde hair was swept up in a neat bun, her blue eyes wide and calm, she fitted the scene perfectly, suddenly the inspector was not so interested in formal conversations about Agnes Muller.

"So inspector," she said, waking him from his thoughts, "How long have you been in the police?"

"A long time." He replied, "How long have you been a barmaid?"

"A long time." she smiled cheekily, he found a blush rise to his cheeks and was certain that her own cheeks had responded to it.

"Have you lived here all your life?" He asked.

"Yes, I would never leave, it's so peaceful."

"Peaceful." he repeated, spellbound.

"Do you think you'll come back? One day, I mean, just to see it again." she asked, a searching look mixed with her features.

"At the moment," he started, looking at the meaning in her beautiful eyes, and into those very eyes he whispered, "I don't ever want to leave."

Then they kissed, it was not that she kissed him, or he, her, but rather, both of them, in unison leaned forward, her, slighty on tiptoes, he, delicately taking her hands.

And there they stood, under a lush, green oak tree, the pink sky surrounding them like a blanket, there, beside the banks of the calm river, they shared their first, delicate kiss, his lips unsurely brushed hers, his mind screaming about the work to be done, a murder to solve, but his instincts overwhelmed him, and all he could do was hold on to her and try to stop his racing heart from beating it's way out of his chest and into her hands, because, at that moment, he felt his heart was in her hands, and he just didn't care.


	18. On suspicion of

_Before you read this provocative, awful chapter you should perhaps know that I am thankful to bcbdrums, aragonite and xravenscroftx for their lovely reviews._

_I would say enjoy, but you won't :) so please prepare for annoyance :_

Lestrade fumbled for the door key in the dark, his cheeks still flushed and his head still spinning from that kiss.

He felt like everyone he saw knew that they had kissed.

Finally, his scrabbling fingers found the right key and he put it in the lock, the moment the door opened he knew something was wrong; the doctor was sat in the living room, head in hands, shirt sleeves rolled up.

He looked for the detective but he could not see him, "Watson?" he murmered, the doctor jolted upright, a tired look in his eyes, he did not answer.

"Holmes?" the inspector retried to gain some knowledge of whatever situation he was in, "Holmes!" louder this time, more desperate, "**Holmes!" **no answer.

Something inside the inspector's brain clicked and the realisation of what must have happened flooded over him, his features dropped, the rosy look in his cheeks was gone, replaced with an unnaturally pale, sickly skin colour, he dashed through the house, the doctor quickly followed, "Inspector, please! Don't!" Lestrade wouldn't listen, _couldn't listen._  
The detective was a priceless mind in this, and many other cases handled by Scotland Yard and if he was severely injured _or worse _the detective had no idea how he would cope or what he would do.

It seemed to take hours for him to mount the stairs and reach the door to the detective's bedroom, in truth it was seconds between him starting running and him bashing his full weight into the door and running in, wild eyed and pale cheeked.

"Holmes." He whispered, "Oh lord." he felt himself sinking slowly to the floorboards, horrified at what he saw before him, the docter knelt by him, a pleading look in his eyes.

"I didn't mean it to happen sir, I swear."

At first Lestrade had not felt as though he could move, but, when Watson called him sir the posistion of 'Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard Police Force' quickly reasserted itself, he stood up, and went to find his handcuffs, they were on the side table, he went back to Watson, making sure not to look at the bed, he cleared his throat, blinked his eyes to try and stop them stinging, "Doctor John Watson, I am arresting you on suspicion of.."

_Mwahaha I love cliff hangers, you guys'll have to wait to find out!  
In the meantime you could name the barmaid! leave a barmaid name comment! come on, you know you want to!!  
I can't upload again until I have a name for her._


	19. Candle

_Thanks to Kadal, aragonite, taralome, bcbdrums and dilletante2 for their wonderful reviews.  
Also thankyou to Kadal, Taralome, dilletante2, and bcbdrums for name suggestions.  
And, finally, **special** thanks to Taralome for suggesting the name of the barmaid ;D._

_Please **R&R** Guys!_

_Enjoy:_

She sighed, tired, and moved to clean the next table in the empty pub; another day at work, another afternoon cleaning, another evening of her nagging father and squabbling brothers.

It seemed to her that the inspector was the only interesting thing in her life at that moment, the only shred of hope to hang on to, she sighed again, her cheeks were still rosy from the fresh air and the uncertain, youthful kiss she had shared with the inspector only half an hour before but that didn't stop the romantic blur of passion she had felt from seeming so far away, the minutes ticked by like hours without company.

She wiped her hands on her apron and went towards the bar, Kate was used to the dull trudge of day to day life, and now that dear old Aggy was dead it was even worse, she felt a grim sickness come over her, her senses told her that Aggy's blood would not be the last to dirty the waters of this case, she just hoped the inspector would manage to steer clear of the trouble.

A light flickered in the corner.  
She didn't bother looking; it was a candle and she could hear that the night outside was full of wind.

Another light flickered, in the opposite corner, closer to her.  
She didnt bother looking; both lights were on either side of the fireplace; the wind could get through there.

A third light flickered behind her, she heard the creaking of a floorboard.  
She looked.

Too late.


	20. Running

_AAAAWWWWW Lestrade.. I'm sorry :'(_

_Thanks to xravenscroftx, bcbdrums, dilletante2 and aragonite for reviewing!  
:D I'm just so evil, I'm going to keep you in the dark just a little bit longer, but this chapter really upsets me Waaaaaaah I love you really Lestrade!_

_WEEEEEE! I'm 15 this month! YESSS! On the 14th wooop! 15 years old woohoo! gonna have a pawty and a choccy fondu!! :D_

The Inspector sat in the corner of the dusty room, other detectives mulled about the place, looking through files and asking questions, Lestrade was certain they weren't really doing anything; just trying to look important.

A small group of nervous looking constables were stood by the door, trying to decide how best to approach him for a statement, he sank his head into his hands, letting the greif and fear overwhelm him.  
He felt detatched; like none of this was real, it was someone elses life he was experiencing, not his own, he did not listen to the conversations happening all around him, he could not hear anything more than his own troubled breathing and beating heart.

Then, suddenely, in the pit of his stomach, he felt that burning anxious feeling, something told him that all was not right in the world, his nerves overwhelmed him, but he could not stand up, he could not leave the small dusty office, he looked across the room, somewhere, through that winding expanse of corridors, snaking away from him into the semi-dark torrent of stairs, cabinets, files, doors, chairs, beds, somewhere, in all that darkness, Sherlock Holmes was laid out on a cold table, surrounded by tired men who would rather be at home with their wives than, yet again, standing around, in that depressing place where they worked.

He stood, the room fell silent, he slowly moved across to the door, not noticing the men around him as they shrunk back, out of his way.

He silently closed the door behind him, and, as the corridor before him seemed to throw itself before his feet, guiding him, he started to run, a desperate, wild run, like that of a lost child in a forest, he tore his way through obstacles, a high pitched wail emmitting from his mouth, _everything was wrong, all wrong, this couldn't be happening, not here, not now!_

He passed door after door, but he couldn't slow down, eventually he reached a dead end, in a dark, forgotten part of the huge old building, there he broke down into tears, pushing his heated forehead against the cool wall, he slowly slumped down to the floor and curled into a ball, rocking himself and weeping, it seemed, at that moment, as if all was wrong with the world, his tears stung his eyes and his shoulders heaved as sobs shook his small figure, the little policeman had lost many people in his life, but the authoritive figure of Holmes and the friendly, understanding nature of Watson had become so reassuring to him, so safe, now he risked losing them, he felt like a little boy, and, the flustered men that had chased after him in his frenzied sprint had, at first sight, thought he was one; they had believed that they were seeing the ghost of a small child and not the brave inspector they had come to know over the years.

However, as they approached, caution clear on all their faces, they had recognized him, and a larger man had swept him up in a rug, the small group of men clustered around the larger one as he carried the inspector into a quiet room somewhere deep amongst the winding corridors, and sat down in a corner, still holding him, and rocked him to sleep.

_Awww Lestrade! weeps_

_Please R&R guys! come on!! _

_I want to reach 50 reviews by my b-day wooo, best b-day pressie ever!!  
__Hmm... am I the youngest SH fanfic writer? No, probably not.. Oh well!_

_R&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&R _

_:D_


	21. Tom

Kate hit the floor, lashing out at the huge man, pushing her.

"Tom you get off me this instant or I'll call the police!" She bossed.

Their eyes met and a grin flashed across his face, "Them's who you been out with all night are them Kate?"

"Not all night, Tom, Just an hour or so." She sighed irritably.

"Them's be unwelcome here Kate, you know that." His face went very serious, well, serious for him, at least.

"I know!" She snapped.

"You know what pa would tell you; thems policemen, they don't know how to cope with themselves. Won't be doing you no good to speak with the likes of them, just sep'rate you from the other gals, you know what it is to be frowned on Kate, 'member Aggie? Killed her, killed her fer bein' with thems others, thems that we know not to talk of."

She felt a pang of hurt and upset inside her heart befor replying, "I'll say nowt about it Tom, you know me."

"Ain't me you be 'avin to convince though is it?" He grunted, standing up and leaving.

Though Kate did love her big brother, and did trust him to protect her, she was terribly scared for her safety, after all, he was right, she should take no risks, not after what happened with Aggie, but she couldn't ignore the inspector either.

He made her feel something she had never felt before, offered to keep this feeling flowing through her till the day she died, he made her feel safe, like he could protect her from anything with his kind heart and honest eyes, she felt safe.

_Nout is northern slang for nothing (incase you didn't know :D)_

_Mwahaha, it was all just to get your hearts racing :D_

_Hm... the mystery deepens,eh?_

_PLEASE r&r you lot!_


	22. Perspective beer fest story involved

_Right!_

_It was the beer festival yesterday so I am officially smashed!  
No, but seriously, I arrived home some time in the early hours of this morning with a ton of sand in my shoes (although the beer festival was in the middle of a feild and the nearest beach/ sand area was 6 miles away :S ) and with the vague memory of a circus (the nearest circus being 4 miles outside the parish borders in the other direction to the beach.) I also have sunburn although it was the middle of the night :S  
I mean **seriously, **what the HELL was I doing out there!?_

_(So basically, there is a strong possibility I walked 20 miles last night between 8 and whatever time I finally dragged myself in, and the sunburn is so red it would suggest I paid a quick visit to my family in Africa during that time aswell!!)_

_Enjoy this story, though it will probably be as wasted as me :_

**_Her perspective:_**

Kate smiled as she heard the inspectors uneven footsteps enter the pub, for a moment she didn't turn; savouring the moment.

When she did all happiness left her instantaneously; the inspector looked awful, tired brown eyes, filled with pain and regret didn't meet with hers, and a fringe flopped forward over his face, his face - it was like the face of a tired old man, covered in worried creases and with patches under his eyes so dark she was sure even a blind person would see them.

"What happened?" She asked, concern and anxiety gripping her like the cold fingers of death, making her throat feel like it was made out of ice.

"He... he.. No." The inspector stuttered and groaned, "This can't really be happening," he said, "This is all just some horrible dream and I'm just taking a long time to wake up, that's all."

Kate felt a singe of pain, was he talking about her? Had he not enjoyed their walk last night? She pulled him a pint but he did not drink it, just leaned against the bar looking down; captured in his own thoughts.

* * *

**_His perspective: _**

He walked into the pub, Kate was behind the bar, though she couldn't have heard him because she didn't turn until he was right behind her.

When she did turn she looked happy, then she saw him, the happiness left her face, replaced by something he wasn't sure of; could it be disappointment?

She looked nice today anyway, her big eyes shining, and her beutiful hair curling down in ringlets, he didn't want to look her in the face, show her what a hideous person he really was compared to her.

"What happened?" She asked, her voice sounded cold, clipped, was she talking about the date? Should he have called on her sooner? The date felt a million miles away at that moment in time.

He tried to answer her, and failed. At the sight of her all that pent up emotion overwhelmed him again, she was so young, so beautiful, innocent and summery, why was she with an old man like him? He couldn't forget Holmes and Watson, he tried to tell her; make her understand the nightmare he was living.

She did not respond, just pulled him a pint, another regular customer, of course she didn't like him. Why would she?  
He did not drink the pint, he just stood with it in his hand, entrapped in his own mind; so many thoughts, so many things going wrong, how was a man supposed to deal with it?

_Okay, just thought I'd help kick in some perspective here._

_I want to thank everyone for your support, your all legends :D_

_Sorry, my first chapter back is most likely naf; I'm really tired.  
Although I know that's no excuse, thanks for reading anyway. xx_


	23. Trains

_Thank you aragonite for commenting x  
It's been a tough one._

_Enjoy:_

The movement of the train gently lulls him to sleep.

His eyes do not witness the rolling countryside passing him by outside the window.

The train judders to a halt and a group of young men walk past the window, talking loudly.

His eyes flicker open.

A young woman tugs her child along behind her as she runs toward her husband, he shuts the train door and sweeps the two of them into his arms, a reunion.

An old tailor is sat outside the ticket office, he has lost all vision in his left eye and his right one is heading the same way.

A street urchin has clearly travelled here from London; his pale complexion says all.

With so much to observe in the city, how could Sherlock Holmes go back to the country? Besides, Watson still thought he was dead and this was clearly essential now unless he really wanted to _be_ dead rather than just having everyone else think so.

The train jolted and shuddered back into movement, the steady swaying continued and his eyes flicked shut once more.

_Thought I might as well..._

_If I did a chapter where I made you, as the reader a participant, what would you think.._

_Actually it's probably too late now; I have an alternative chapter to this one, maybe I'll upload it as a one-shot??_


	24. Mycroft

_Thank you aragonite and KCS for your lovely reviews ;D  
And as for YOU xravescroftx ;) I'll run my beady eye over that chapter and see whether I can put it up or not. In the meantime why don't you think up some more plot bunnies, I might as well invite you because I know you'll send them to me anyway ;D_

_Sorry if you find mistakes, I couldn't be bothered to check, too ill, too tired._

_Enjoy:_

Mycroft Holmes looked at the newspaper in disbelief, the receptionist had brought it in to him, pale faced with anxiety.

_'Great detective killed by best friend'_ he couldn't believe it! He wouldn't believe it, or at least, he wouldn't _have _believed it hadn't Inspector Lestrade himself, looking rather too old and sickly for his age, just left his office.

Mycroft looked down at his left hand, in it he clutched two pictures, one of him and Sherlock as children, playing at the beach, Sherlock looking out of the frame towards some unseen person making a long forgotten deduction, Mycroft himself, sitting on a chair, hands in his lap, looking grand.  
The second picture was the one Lestrade had just brought in, it was an image of Sherlock the police had taken, he was dead, even in the picture you could see the long bruises around his neck.

Mycroft felt a pang of pain in his heart; had Sherlock thought of him as he died in such a horrible way, had he wondered what would happen to all those cases, waiting to be solved?

Mycroft was so lost in his thoughts he did not hear anyone come in, the unkown walked up and stood behind him, close enough to hug him, or hit him.  
He looked down at the pictures and then spoke, "You know I, I always thought that picture portrayed us both _so _well, brother mine, though the second one I can't stand."

Mycroft jumped, ghosts?

"And another point I feel I must make is how ridiculous it is to get a cab in the country, I mean _really!_ It's like being dragged backwards through a cabbage feild by a rampaging donkey with springs attatched to its shoes."

Sherlock walked around to stand infront of his brother whose first reaction was something along the lines of, '_Dead? I'll give you dead in a minute! You lying, little' _and so on, and the second reaction, the one he chose to use was, "Do close the door, I feel a chill."

_Ooooh review!  
You know that you want to!  
There's really nothing in it  
And it doesn't take a minute!_

_xx :D_


	25. How many cigarrettes!

_Thank you all for your lovely comments and PMs!! :D_

_I don't know if you're all as upset as me about the fact that aragonite's brilliant story 'a test of proffessionals' has come to a close :'C  
Cruel isn't it?_

_Anyway, despite my buoyant mood this afternoon Mycroft isn't so pleased._

_So, without further ado, let's get on with it._

_Enjoy_

_x_

Mycroft Holmes had always found aspects of his little brother's personality to be irritating, every older brother does, but this one was surely the worst of all; how _dare _he do this? How _did _he do this?

It was ridiculous! If he was dead he was dead, that was the way it was with all the other little brothers, but Sherlock just had to make things complicated, oh no, Sherlock Holmes couldn't possibly even _consider_ staying dead! It was unthinkable the he, the great London amateur detective, should be mortal!

Mycroft grumbled to himself, 'little brothers', 'complicating everything!' and 'completely inconsiderate!' were amongst his complaints.

Sherlock stood there feeling rather silly, an emotion that only his older brother could strike in him, and jerkily tried to help his brother carry his things to the awaiting cab, "Put that down! That's government property, you'd be hung if you so much as peeked into that little file!" Mycroft snapped.  
The detective dropped the file like it was a hot iron rod, leaping backwards as he did so.

"Must you be _completely_ out of control, brother mine? Could you not just be still for a single moment? You come here asking me for a bed and food and you know all too well the answer! If you cannot behave you cannot live with me; I have regular visitors, government officials and people of unquestionable stance and they do not wish to see you acting a fool!" The younger Holmes felt like a small child being told off by his father, "Sherlock, you may have a room in my house, and you may also ask one of the maids to go and gather your things in a bag, but during the time you stay with me you certainly may _not_ leave your room during the day unless I request your company or allow you to take a turn in the grounds, you will also have to lessen your smoking habit; I can't afford it, it's not worth my money."

The detective frowned, he knew his brother's house rules would be strict but this was a major setback, not just to him but to the case also, but then, he could see little choice, his brother had already stated that he could collect his things without being suspected, he desperately needed rooms and he hadn't a penny, he couldn't get money from the bank because he was supposed to be dead, his brother had agreed to cover his living costs, something he was certainly in some great need of, the case, he concluded, would just_ have _to wait.

"Okay brother," he agreed, "I accept your terms, but pray tell me, how much will I be allowed to smoke?" the detctive felt a lump rise to his throat as his brother answered him.

"Anyway I'm sure you'll cope on that ammount." Mycroft moved towards the cab, "Come along Sherlock." He called back to his utterly demoralised brother; how could _anyone_ 'cope on that ammount'? It was ridiculous!

_R&R Go on! You know you want to! ;D_


	26. Confession

_**Proof that we are part of a Conan-Doyle story:**_

_The following warning is being broadcasted to you be the British Broadcasting Chuxter (BBC), please give the utmost care and attention:  
__Kennedy and Watson, both shot with one bullet in the shoulder, both injured in the leg simultaneously; bendy bullets, WATCH OUT!  
May help if you read Sherlock Holmes, Kennedy hated it and as for Watson.._

_xD Enjoy:_

I sat in the corner of my cell, wondering what was happening outside now, was Holmes recovering while Lestrade made plans with that barmaid? Was Mrs. Hudson helping them find a new room mate for my friend? Had they come to a decision about me? I hoped I lived.

The previous day I had paced until my leg had ached so badly I could pace no more, today it was no better and I sorely regretted every movement.

The door to my cell opened and Lestrade stepped in, he silently seated himself beside me, he did not look at me nor I at him, he did not speak either, just sat there, looking pale and haggard.

I was a million miles away, my eyes glazed, I did not wish to admit to why he was here, the only reason he could be here.

"Oh Tobias." I said, finally, "What have you done?"

Lestrade jolted next to me, his breathing became ragged, his heart beating so hard it moved his entire chest, still we did not face eachother.

We sat for some five minutes without saying a word more, then he asked, softly, distantly, so that I knew he was a million miles away too, "Tobias who?" There was a faint hint in his voice, like a thin rod of iron that let me know I had to answer him, although it would have been nigh impossible to detect to anyone else.

"A soldier, from Afghanistan, he's linked to the whole business." I barely noticed the words as they fell from my mouth.

He sat next to me a minute more, perhaps dazed, perhaps making an action plan, then he pulled away, out the door, without a word or a flicker of eye contact.

I did not move for some thirty seconds after he left, I felt cold, detatched, I didn't feel like I had been talking to Lestrade at all; I felt like I had merely been to a confession in church, I did not know Lestrade, he certainly did not know me and neither of us had looked upon eachother, we had been there for business more than companionship.

And, when the confessing was done, I found some little solace in the fact that I had finally let someone know my sins, that I was not carrying the burden alone anymore, but that was all the solace I found for I knew now, I knew that my friend, Sherlock Holmes, was dead.

I sat there without moving for hours, days, till my muscles ached from the lack of exercise.  
The guards and officials tried to get me to move, to eat but I didn't budge.  
Oh no, I sat in the corner of my cell, wondering what was happening outside now, was Lestrade stood over Holmes' grave, paying his last respects? Was Mrs. Hudson searching for new tenants to hire 221B? Had they come to a decision about me? I hoped I died.

_  
See this is what happens when you don't give me reviews, I get bored and upload another chapter without any planning whatsoever, not that that isn't what I ordinarily do, but **still**!!_

_Come on you guys!! You KNOW you love me!! R&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&RR&R_


	27. Kate?

Lestade looked up from his desk, Inspector Bradstreet was heading towards his door, the huge man thundered into the small office, a look of agitated excitement plastered over his features, "You're going back." he said, before Lestrade could stop him he went on, "Another body was found, a local girl's, Katie Jones was her name.

Lestrade felt his heart stop, what was Kate's last name? Bradstreet observed his friend's eyes widening, his complexion grow a little paler and his mouth begin to gape, he stared sightlessly forward, he did not hear Bradstreet asking him if he was OK, he just heard Kate laughing, saying his name, singing, and then he heard her screaming, crying, begging for her life, and he could stand it no more, he grabbed his coat and ran, he had no idea where to, he just ran as fast as he could.

_Review please melovers x_


	28. Bradstreet

He ended up at Paddington Station, he boarded the 12.15 to Penzance and flung himself into the nearest empty carriage, he sunk his head into his hands, his hearing changed; everything was blurred as if he was underwater, he became lost in his thoughts.

The train jolted into life and lurched forward,he heard a faint noise in the distance, 'Lestrade.' there it was again, "Lestrade? What's going on?" He felt as if he was being pulled up from water, suddenly the sounds surrounding him became sharp when previously they had seemed surreal.

He looked up, "Bradstreet." he said, his throat ached, he realised then that he had been crying, this was a bad thing to notice at that moment in time as it started him off again, "Bradstreet!" he wept, "It was her!"

He tried to calm himself but all he could think about was Kate, and then he remembered Tobias and the cruel thought of revenge overtook his mind.

_reeeeeeeeeeeeevieeeeeeeeeeeeeew ;D _

_you know you want to!_


	29. Mother

_Thanks to xravenscroftx and Bowen Cates for their reviews, it's appreciated._

_Enjoy:_

Sherlock caught the ball in his left hand, passed it to his right hand and threw it again, Mycroft was not appreciative of his brothers drug habits and so had locked him in an empty room until he was 'better', something he now regretted was giving his brother a ball.

For four hours now, since six o'clock in the morning, his brother had eaten nothing, drunk nothing and said nothing, he just sat, continuously throwing that damned ball.

Mycroft had settled to a childish path of retliation and now he stood in front of his brother with numerous small bags of tobacco and a maid holding a bin, every time his brother threw the ball another bagh of tobacco went in the bin.  
Sherlock continued to throw the ball regardless, not truly believeing his brother would restrict his tobacco supply any further than he already had.

When the last bag was thrown into the bin Mycroft gave the order to dispose of it, Sherlock stopped breathing, "What?" he hissed, "_What?_" he threww the ball at the wall, frustration overcoming him, it smashed into the wall, denting the plaster before falling to the floor.

"Sherlock, your behaviour is dispicable, do you wish me to call mother? She'd soon turn you round!" Snapped Mycroft.

Holmes froze, "Mother." he whispered, his eyes widening, the immense fear this thought caused him was so incredibly apparent it made Mycroft smile, guiltily, of course.

_wowthatwasagoodchapterithinkimightreviewquicklyandlettheauthorknowmythoughts. (SubliminalMessagingChuxter) xD_


	30. Be careful not to slip

_Ta to xravenscroftx, Foggy Knights and bcbdrums for their reviews. ;D_

_Cheers._

_Enjoy:_

Sherlock steadily lowered himself out of the window, finding a foothold in a drainpipe, he slowly clambered down to the ground, being careful not to slip, he had heard Mycroft telling one of the maids that Waston was in prison, about to be hanged for murder.

All night he had been unable to sleep, when he had closed his eyes he had seen himself crawling out of his own grave in the hospital cemetery while no one was looking, how foolish he had been not to realise the powerful impact his actions would have on his friend, there was only one course of action; he must solve the murder and then step forth and stop Watson's death.

He was so close to the answer now that he could almost smell it.

It started to rain, damn his brother and his big house, he moved his foot down to the next small handle that attached the pipe to the wall, they were no more than a centimeter wide but he was determined not to fail; this was his third escape attempt and he was beginning to feel rather ridiculous.

He gritted his teeth, "_Be careful._" He said, "_Not to slip._"

He slipped.

_Last Chappie coming up. AHHHHHHHHH!_

_REVIEW and tell me what you think is going on.. Sherlock._

_xx_


	31. Anxious

_Thank you to xravenscroftx, bcbdrums and ... for their reviews xD '...'_

_Anyway.._

_Enjoy ANDREVIEWAFTERWARDS (SMC) xD_

The window beneath him flung open and an absentminded hand reached out and grabbed the back of his coat absentmindedly, breaking his fall, his brother Mycroft pulled him through the window without looking up from the newspapers he was reading.

Still without looking up at him his brother grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and threw him into a sitting position on the floor, "Behave." came the simple order, Holmes looked up at his older brother disdainfully, he stood and began to dust himself down, using it as an excuse to get a good look at the room and see if there was a chance he could dash out unexpectedly, he was younger and fitter than his brother so the chance of him being caught was slim indeed.

But before he could act upon his plan his brother had grabbed his collar and thrown him down again, "Behave!" he said again, as if trying to persuade his younger brother, "For goodness sake Sherlock, if you wish to go out then we shall at least give you money and a nice suit, you will also need a disguise, that Lestrade fellow is down there."

The detective's eyes widened, "Truly brother mine? You'll truly give that all to me."

"Well all you had to do was ask." Came his brothers grumbled reply, "You've been sulking for weeks, I wasn't sure if I let you go you would simply waste your time with more sulking so I positioned that clever conversation about your friend, Wilkson, outside your door to see how you would react."

Sherlock looked up at his brother in wonderment, "But Watson really is in danger I presume?" he asked.

"Oh yes, they're to start trials tomorrow and if you don't act quickly he will soon be sent to the gallows." came his brothers punctual reply.

Holmes felt a slight twinge in the corner of his heart which he assumed was the emotion they called.. anxiety.


	32. Dying

_Hey! Sorry it took so long for me to upload; I've been sleeping._

_Well, FoggyKnight and Werewolf Master I be thanking ye fer yer comments- I gone farmar I 'as!_

_Anyway, Enjoy:_

Lestrade burst into the pub as if he were being chased by a bear.  
Bradstreet, who had been close at his heels fell, panting, at his side, his eyes flickered upwards disdainfully as, yet again, the smaller man darted away from him.

Lestrade was overcome with grief and the slight pang of nausea had begun to fill his stomach, he wanted to ease himself down onto the steps and rest, curl up into a ball and weep, just like he had done in the hospital.

Why did he even feel like this? They had had one date, a walk, it wasn't like he'd been courting her for months, writing to her and sending her flowers, okay, so he had written to her - once, and maybe he had bought her flowers on the date, but that was different, that didn't mean anything, did it?  
Maybe to him but not to her surely? Such a beautiful woman must be accustomed to flowers, bored of them, even.

"Kate?" He called, an almost begging tone in his voice.

He skipped over the bar and started to bolt up the stairs, "Kate?" His legs gave way beneath him, he fell to the stairs, catching his arm on an old nail as he fell, it dug deep, his skin rippling to either side of it as it tore through his flesh, he cried out as his blood showered him, "_Kate! Please!_" He wept.

"What's all this noise about?" Kate appeared at the top of the stairway at the same time as Bradstreet appeared at the bottom, they both looked at each other, then at Lestrade, that was when the panic started.

Kate rushed down the stairs towards him, unhooking his arm from the nail tenderly, trying her best not to hurt him, she looked into his eyes and whispered his name, resting her forehead against his and whispering it again, "Please be alright." she whispered into his ear as Bradstreet lifted Lestrade from the steps, she repeated it twice more as if it was his choice whether or not he would be okay.

She kissed his cheek as Bradstreet rested him on the counter and rushed out to telegram a doctor, he watched her as she washed the wound and wrapped a tea-towel around it.

Everything seemed to be happening so slowly although he could tell that she was running, she paused in the midst of the fray of her family and other people he did not recognize to plant a reassuring kiss on his lips and stroke his hair, then she was gone again.

He noticed suddenly that he could not hear any sound, though there surely must have been noise somewhere in the midst of all that panic.

He could not tell you for certain how long it took him to realise he could no longer move, and the one thing he certainly could not tell you if you asked him was how long it took him to realise he was dying, because realising and accepting are two completely different things.

_REVIEWBECAUSEYOUAREUPSETANDWANTTOFINDOUTWHATHAPPENS!! (SMC) xD_


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